


the evil one standing my sponsor

by johanneseburg (8The_Great_Perhaps8)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Gore, Horror, Insect Torture, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2019-01-04 06:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12163680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8The_Great_Perhaps8/pseuds/johanneseburg
Summary: Anna Ripley is a terrible, terrible woman who has done terrible, terrible things.





	the evil one standing my sponsor

**Author's Note:**

> tw for emetophobia, drowning, torture, insects, insect torture, gore, underage noncon, etc.

Says Ripley, “This is for your own good, Percival.”

Says Percival- nothing. Percival’s mouth was sewn shut yesterday by Ripley. It was not sewn shut with the rough, medical thread that sutures generally require. It was not sewn shut with the medical style of stitchery. It was sewn shut with a soft blue cotton thread, with the ladylike stitches of embroidery.

It will hurt when she pulls the stitches out. Everyone knows that embroidery requires more stitches than suturing.

Says Ripley, as she removes a large saw from the drawer in the table atop which Percival’s body sits, “Really, Percival, this is for the good of Whitestone. If your family was weak enough to be killed by a few mercenaries in one night, Whitestone never would have stood a chance in battle.” Ripley runs her finger over a few of the saw’s teeth before finally placing it above Percival’s navel.

Says Percival- nothing, but even with his mouth sewn tightly shut he screams, eyes widening in terror as he gazes at the saw above his navel.

Says Ripley, placing the saw gently onto Percival’s stomach, “I would like to make you a deal, Percival. I know that you are in pain right now. I imagine that you have been in quite a bit of pain for the past few days. That has been my goal, after all. But, I ramble. A deal, Percival. An offer. One that would prevent this saw from piercing your ever-so-lovely flesh.” Ripley runs her free hand over Percival’s skin, pale and drawn. “All you need to do, my dear, is say, ‘Please, Dr. Ripley, don’t do it.’”

Percival squirms, attempting his best to point towards the stitches in his mouth.

Says Ripley, smiling genially, “No, my darling. You need to say it, but I will not break your stitches.” She pushes the saw into Percival’s skin. “I will give you fifteen seconds.”

Says Percival- still, nothing. He screams and screams, until he’s certain that his mouth is filled with blood and he will drown to escape the torture. He sobs tears that he was certain had already been spent, on the first night that the mercenaries came. He howls, like a wild beast with its legs caught in a trap.

But the stitches are not loosed, and Anna Ripley is a woman of her word.

She does not cut down Percival’s stomach quickly or cleanly. She first pierces the skin with the saw, so that each tooth has a spot of blood pooling beneath it, and then she begins sawing back-and-forth until Percival’s stomach has been divided into two ragged halves. She then repositions the blade, making two more cuts, these ones horizontal, and then she places the blade back beneath the table.

Says Ripley, “Oh, Percival,” as though she were a schoolmarm chastising a rowdy student. “Really, I asked you a simple favor. It’s a shame that you chose not to help me.”

Percival continues to scream, and rightfully so, as Ripley takes the two flaps of skin that once made up his abdomen and pins them to the side, giving her a full view of Percival’s innards.

Says Ripley, “How lovely. Percival, you’ve heard me compliment your skin, but I do believe that it’s true what they say: it’s what’s on the inside that really counts.” As she finishes her macabre statement, Ripley pulls on a pair of leather-hewn gloves and reaches beneath the table to retrieve a large jar full of black squiggling insects.

Says Ripley, “Now, Percival, I’ve heard that you like to experiment. I do, as well! Today’s experiment has not yet been named. Perhaps I’ll ask your assistance on that, later.” Ripley unscrews the jar and reaches one gloved hand inside, retrieving a millipede the size of Percival’s forearm. “Where should we put our first participant, Percival?”

If Percival’s eyes had widened at the sight of the saw, it was nothing compared to his reaction to the millipede. His eyes turned the size of dinner plates, and, after glancing towards the surface of the table, he began slamming his head backwards again and again, in the hopes of either securing death or unconsciousness.

Ripley laughs at that, as she replaces the lid on the jar, still holding the millipede in one hand. “No, no, Percival. This is for the betterment of science! We can’t have our participant going unconscious right in the middle!” As Percival slams his head back onto the table again, Ripley quick-smart straps it down.

Says Ripley, “Now, Percival, where should we place our first participant?”

Says Percival- nothing, still, because he still has the stitches in his mouth. He screams, still, and maybe he hears one of the stitches pop, but the volume does not increase. He cannot tell Ripley where to place the first participant. Perhaps, if his mouth were open, he could scream for her to shove it up her ass. Perhaps, if his mouth were open, he would beg and plead for her to do _anything, anything, please, anything but that_.

But his mouth is sewn shut, and so he can only scream.

Says Ripley, “Are you still feeling unhelpful, Percival?” She walks the entire way around the table, sizing up Percival from head to toe. “Perhaps,” she says, staring at Percival’s still-exposed stomach, “we ought to let our new friend get to know you a little better.” She dangles the writhing arthropod teasingly above Percival’s intestines, dipping it into the viscera only to pull it back up. “What do you think, Percival?”

Percival continues to stare at Ripley, eyes wide, finally allowing his screams to taper off.

Ripley frowns as Percival goes silent, and walks towards Percival’s head, still holding tight to the millipede.

Says Ripley, “Perhaps we ought to let you and your new friend meet… face to face, as it were.” She lowers the millipede just enough for its legs to scrabble against Percival’s nose, then lowers it a bit more and moves it so that its legs scrabble against his eyelid. Ripley forces his eye open, and allows the millipede to feel Percival’s bare eyeball with its legs. Percival screams again, and Ripley smirks victoriously.

Says Ripley, “Perhaps, Percival, I’ll even loose the stitches on your mouth a bit and give you a small meal. They say that fresh meat is good for you.”

At this. Percival panics and begins thrashing to and fro within his bonds. He screams long and loud and pained, muffled terribly by the stitches.

Ripley says, “Do you disapprove, Percival? Could you tell me a better solution?”

Percival stares at her, still screaming, eyes welling up with tears that he thought were long-since shed.

Ripley digs beneath the table, placing the jar still full of various insects and monsters on the floor, and retrieves a pair of scissors.

Says Ripley, “Now, Percival, it may sting a bit when I remove your stitches. That is perfectly normal. Just stay calm.”

Ripley stabs the scissors into Percival’s mouth with great gusto, nearly severing his tongue in the process. She works the scissors between the light-blue stitches indelicately, and cuts only seven stitches. She places the scissors down, blade facing away from Percival, and forces Percival’s lips open with her fingers. Carefully, she pushes the millipede into the opening, forcing Percival’s teeth open, and allows the millipede to curl up inside of his mouth.

Finally satisfied- at least, for the moment- Ripley leans back and admires Percival’s face.

Asks Ripley, “Can you breathe right now, Percival? Or is the arthropod blocking your airway?”

Replies Percival- nothing. Percival has gone stock still and only allows his eyes to move, following Ripley around as she turns and tilts her head to see him from different angles.

Asks Ripley, “Are you _frightened_ of me, Percival?”

Says Percival- nothing. His mouth is beginning to fill with spit, and he is consciously focusing on not swallowing.

Ripley smiles saccharinely at Percival. Moving more quickly than Percival has become accustomed to in the past few days, she retrieves a pail of dirty water from the corner of the room and a funnel from a nearby workbench. She forces the funnel into the gap remaining between Percival’s teeth, and then pours the filthy water into Percival’s mouth.

At the sudden invasion of its space, the millipede begins thrashing around in Percival’s mouth, and Percival has to focus harder than ever on not swallowing.

Ripley steps back, again, and just watches Percival in his terrored state.

Says Ripley, softly, “Percival. Will you do anything if I remove the millipede from your mouth?”

Percival nods, again, not the desperate nods of a man who knows that he is at his end, but the panicked nods of a boy, a child, who is afraid of what will happen if he continues to refuse the good doctor.

Ripley smiles benevolently, and takes up the scissors again. She begins by knocking the funnel out of Percival’s mouth, and then rips the stitches out of his lips, forcing his mouth open with her bare hands. As she does, the water spills out of Percival’s mouth and he gags at the sudden loss of pressure. As he gags, the millipede is forced down his throat, and Percival begins dry-heaving.

Pausing at the effects of her actions, Ripley steps back again and stares at Percival’s face with the millipede stuck in his gullet as though she were saving the image of it in her memory.

After a moment or two of savoring the fear in Percival’s eyes, Ripley finally steps forward and yanks the millipede out of his mouth, throwing it to the hard stone floor before crushing its head beneath her tall, sharp heel.

As Ripley tears the millipede from Percival’s mouth, Percival leans his head away from Ripley as best he can with the restraint and vomits over the side of the table.

Ripley looks up from the insectoid goop on the bottom of her shoe at Percival and the vomit spilling over the side of the table.

Says Ripley, “Oh, Percival. Look at the _mess_ you’ve made!” Sounding for all the world like a simple country woman scolding her child, Ripley steps back towards the table and lays the back of her hand on Percival’s forehead. After a brief moment of peace, just enough that Percival begins to wonder who the real Ripley is, she flips her hand over and digs her fingernails into Percival’s scalp, eliciting a sharp howl.

Says Ripley, teeth gritted, fingernails digging into Percival’s scalp, “I ought to rub your little piggy face in it.”

She smiles at Percival again and releases his skull.

Says Ripley, both hands behind her back, looking for all the world like a well-to-do governess, “What shall we do now, Percival?”

Percival only stares at Ripley still, breathing deeply.

Says Percival- nothing.

Ripley grabs Percival’s chin and squeezes it. Says Ripley, “What shall we do now, Percival?”

Says Percival-

“Whatever you feel like doing, Ripley.”

Ripley releases her grasp on Percival’s chin, instead pressing both her thumbs into Percival’s eyelids.

Says Ripley, “Percival, what do you call me?”

Says Percival, “Ripley.”

Ripley presses harder, and redness begins to appear in the bags beneath Percival’s eyes.

Says Ripley, “Percival. What. Do. You. Call. Me?”

Percival groans. Says Percival, “Rip. Ley.”

Ripley presses her right thumbnail into Percival’s left eyelid harder, until blood leaks out. Reaching beneath the table with her left hand, Ripley retrieves a large metal emblem, placed at the end of a metal poker. She walks away from Percival, towards the large fireplace in the corner of the room.

Says Ripley, “Now, Percival, things wouldn’t need to be getting this rough if only you had remembered your manners.” She places the brand into the fire and only sits and watches it for a bit, while Percival sits and watches her.

After several long minutes, Ripley takes the poker from the coals, and walks back to Percival. Without playing any games, no asking Percival where the brand should be, no telling him about what a bad boy he’s been, she slams the iron into Percival’s chest, above where the saw cut.

Percival arches his back and screams in pain as smoke rises from the iron. Ripley only continues to push the iron into Percival’s chest, not reacting to his screams, not at all.

After several long minutes of smoke and screaming and the scent of burning flesh filling the air, Ripley finally removes the brand from Percival’s skin.

Says Ripley, “Percival, you should have been polite. If you had only been polite, we wouldn’t have needed to have gone to such extreme measures.”

Ripley trails her fingers across Percival’s chest, across the imperfection smack in the middle of it.

Says Ripley, “Such a shame. You always had such beautiful skin.”

Her hands fly up to Percival’s skull and begin pressing on his eyes again.

Says Ripley, “What do you call me, Percival?”

Says Percival, gasping for air, desperate, “Dr. Ripley.”

Says Ripley, “Correct.” She presses harder on his eyes. “Which makes me think that you were playing a game with me before, Percival. And I don’t think that you should treat this like a game.”

She moves her hands down to Percival’s neck and squeezes.

At first, Percival coughs and chokes. He tries to move his hands up to Ripley’s, but they are restrained.

Then, his eyes begin rolling back in his head, eyeballs going white. Ripley leans in at this, examining the whites of Percival’s eyes, the veins that are going bright red. She stares at his lips, that are slowly turning blue, and watches with grave interest as Percival’s body slows and begins losing the tenseness in its muscles.

She releases just before the final threshold is crossed- she has done this before, she knows when the threshold is, she knows when to stop in order to bar The Raven Queen from any of her subjects.

Percival remains slack on the table, and, after giving him half a moment, she slaps him across the face.

Says Ripley, “Wake up, Percival. We are not finished yet.”

Percival coughs and comes to consciousness slowly, eyes staying mostly closed.

Says Percival, “Yes, Dr. Ripley?”

Ripley smiles and pats Percival’s cheek gently. Says Ripley, “You lost consciousness, Percival. You aren’t a very constitute young man, are you?”

Percival coughs again. Says Percival, “My apologies, Dr. Ripley. I hope I did not inconvenience you.”

Ripley’s smile grows as she walks from Percival’s face back to the bottom half of his body. Says she, “Not very constitute, no, but such a _sweet_ young man, aren’t you! No, Percival, you did not inconvenience me too much.” 

She releases Percival’s skin from the pins that were holding it to the table. From beneath the table, she retrieves a spool of medical thread and a large needle. As she threads the needle, she whistles softly, an old Northern tune about the death of a lover.

Says Ripley, “I’m going to stitch you up on the count of three, Percival. Alright? One.”

She slams the needle through the skin on Percival’s stomach and begins to crudely suture the wounds.

Percival does not scream or shriek, only gasps sharply.

Ripley smiles widely at this- whether admiring Percival’s restraint, or finally satisfied in having broken him.

It takes several long minutes for Ripley to sew Percival’s wounds back together, and she only grins at the pained noises that Percival lets out.

At last, she knots the end of the thread of the sutures, and places the needle and thread back beneath the table.

Says Ripley- nothing.

Ripley only removes her thick, woolen overskirts, leaving herself in only pettiskirts and an underskirt. She removes her shoes and stockings next, kicking off the heels that are still soaked with the viscera of the still-struggling millipede, and leaving her cream-colored stockings where they fall after she steps out of them.

As she climbs onto the table, kneeling atop Percival, he begins moaning. Cries Percival, “No, no, please, Dr. Ripley, please don’t do this to me, please don’t do this to me, please, I don’t want it, I don’t want it.”

Says Ripley, smiling, “Be polite, Percival, or I’m going to have to hurt you very, very, badly.”

Says Percival, feverish in his childlike desperation, “Please, Dr. Ripley, don’t do this to me, I’m scared, I don’t want to do this again, not again, please, please, please.”

Ripley slaps Percival across the face. Says Ripley, “I did not ask for you to speak, Percival.”

Percival lowers the volume of his voice, but continues mumbling to himself as Ripley rides him to her completion. Finally, she climbs off of him and re-dresses herself before summoning a guard and releasing Percival’s restraints.

The guard takes Percival back from Ripley’s torture room- a converted edition of Percival’s work space- and barely tosses him into a cell floored with other corpses.

Percival crawls to the corner, the only part of the cell where his floor is not a dead body, and begins rocking back and forth.

Whispers Percival, only to himself, “Mama, Mama, please help, everything’s bad, please help Mama, please, I don’t like the new doctor, please, Mama, please.” He repeats the mantra several times, calling for his mother, calling for his older siblings, and sobbing.

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from h.h. holmes quote


End file.
